


deepest secret nobody knows

by rose_griffes



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_griffes/pseuds/rose_griffes
Summary: Out to the ballgame. And a riverbank. And a cheap hotel.
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Buffyverse Top 5, Remix Revival 2020





	deepest secret nobody knows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likeadeuce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rules of the game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/62440) by [likeadeuce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce). 



> I love the idea of an AU where Faith and Wesley travel together, so this remix assignment was perfect. Likeadeuce has a whole collection of stories based on that idea. This pulls together two of them: [Rules of the Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/62440) and [Feminist Education](https://archiveofourown.org/works/62441).

She's had a beer, eaten a lukewarm hotdog, flirted with a hot blonde, and made out with Wesley on the JumboTron. And hey, fate has it that the Red Sox actually won today's game. Win-win all around. Times like this, Faith likes Boston, no strings attached. 

They walk out of Fenway Park with fingers interlaced for a moment. Which is--nice, she thinks. Dorky, but sweet. She lets go of Wesley to high-five the other fans, trying to hold onto that crowd-based high from the win for as long as possible. 

The electric current surging through the crowd flows through her, charges Faith like a battery. She knows what she wants next. Staking something fanged, with someone fighting next to her. With _Wesley_ fighting next to her. 

Grabbing Wes by the shoulders, she tugs him closer and whispers, "I want to kill something."

"Slay," he corrects her.

 _God_ , she hates it when he does this. "Same diff," she shoots back. Prissy shit. Faith tosses her head, cap falling sideways and tucked-up hair falling out. "You're still a little bit afraid of me. Of what I'm gonna do." Pulling at the long waves, she starts to make a quick ponytail but her fingers get tangled up in the strands.

Wesley's standing straight now, like someone has literally shoved a stick up his ass. "You know me. Most of my relationships are built on a foundation of fear and trembling." His voice definitely does not tremble as he says the words.

Faith doesn't know how to interpret it. She'd thrown the word boyfriend around earlier while talking to the hot blonde, but that was role-play. Flirting. Now Wesley's tossing the word relationship at her. It makes her wanna hold his hand again, makes her palms itch, but--

But at the same time he's trying to put the right word in her mouth so she'll pass some stupid morality test and she fucking hates that.

And then she sees **him** behind Wesley. Stephen Cuddy. And then he sees her, and her fists clench. She jumps into ex-girlfriend mode, because how to explain him to him, and Faith isn't even sure which person goes with what word. 

Pasting a big smile on her face, she pushes past Wesley and calls Stephen a fucking asshole, because that's what they do. Did. And because Stephen Cuddy **is** a fucking asshole and she wants to crawl out of her own skin and disappear. 

"Lexie Lehane," says Stephen, all square-jawed and straight teeth. "Alexandria, you goddamn bitch! Where you been hiding?"

She takes a shot, lunging at him, but he darts sideways, grabbing her arm and spinning her. Just like old times, Faith thinks, except that she knows better now. _Should_ know better, anyway. 

He keeps her pinned in front of him by holding her arm. Rubbing her neck, Stephen says, "Still leading with your shoulder. You give every move away."

Faith turns to look up at Stephen, licking her lips instead of coiling up to strike again. She can bide her time. Turning back to Wesley, she tells him, "This is Steve. Steve taught me to fight."

"Alexandria, you fight? I had no idea." The cool blandness in Wesley's voice gives her a breather to get ahold of her thoughts. 

She carefully tugs free from Steve's grip. "It's all right, sweetie." Lacing her fingers through Wesley's again, she leans back against his chest. "I never let 'em hit me in this pretty face."

Time for the second half of the introductions. Dammit. "Steve, this is my friend Wesley. I'm sure you two will get along great. We should find a place for the night and hang."

Stephen does a quick appraisal of Wesley and says, "I dunno, Lex. Looks like you've moved up in the world. Judging from this guy, I doubt I could afford your new rates."

Wesley is quicker than he used to be: he catches her across the chest before she can throw herself at Stephen to claw at his face. She pushes against Wesley's grasp and growls, curses slipping out too fast to control.

Wesley's hands squeeze tightly around her biceps and he shouts her name; she pulls against his grip while Stephen glances at them both, acting like he's not bothered. But Faith knows that line of tension in his body from those weeks way back when. He's not as calm as he wants to look. 

Alright, then. As long as he respects the threat. Faith stops fighting against Wesley and twists enough to look up at him. "OK, Wes, you tell him then." 

He's gotta be pissed enough at Steve to throw a punch or two, she figures. It's in her honor, right? Then she'll jump in and finish the job, because Stephen fucking Cuddy is at least thirty pounds heavier than Wes and knows how to use it. Bad news, even now. 

Except that Wesley doesn't throw a punch. He just says, "She's right. You definitely don't want to mess with her." All sober-sounding and calm and British and it pisses Faith off again. 

The sting of it, of him just standing there after Steve said **that** about her, and Gawd, she can't bear to dig up that old history. Faith smacks Wesley's chest and snarls, "Jesus, you are such a woman!"

* * *

Faith doesn't leave him at Fenway park, though she was tempted to. Wes keeps eyeing her, like he's not sure what's going to come out of her mouth next. Or out of her fist.

Fair enough. Faith doesn't quite know, either.

It's hard to stay pissed when there's mood lighting. Ambiance, B would say. That sudden surge of appreciation for her old hometown has disappeared again, but tonight's sunset over the Mystic River is pretty--a deep orange at the horizon that fades into dark blue when she looks up. Moon overhead, almost fat enough to be full.

B probably sat on this same spot herself a few times. Not the town--the hood of Angel's old Plymouth. Angel himself gave the convertible to Wesley after they started this road trip together.

They're waiting by Tobin Bridge. "We'll see some action soon," Faith tells him. She spins her newest stake, switching from left hand to right. 

Wes tells her some fancy line about the cemetery making more sense. As if she doesn't know her hometown.

"Last time I was at Forest Hills, all I met was a bunch of snooty Harvard kind of undead, and they can't fight for shit." Wes twitches on the car hood--the kind of wiggle you do when your skinny ass doesn't have enough padding for sitting on a car hood. 

Remembering a recent cemetery fight in Virginia, Faith adds, "Besides, when you're supposed to be backing me up, I don't want you looking down to see if this is where Eugene McNeil is buried." 

"Eugene O'Neill," he corrects her. "Not to mention E.E. Cummings." Faith lets out a snort at the name. _Cumming, heh._ "And what makes you think any vampire is going to look for us here?"

Cummings was the one who wrote that poem about carrying someone's heart inside his heart. She still remembers that line.

Wesley's not usually so impatient to get some action--well, to get the vamp-fighting kind of action. "You're just itching to try out that weapon," she accuses him, trying not to laugh. Wes holds a converted dart gun--their reason for coming to Boston in the first place. They'd ordered it from her old weapons supplier, Bubba. His hangout is near the train tracks close to the Washington Street bridge. 

The gun is a beaut, she has to say: the wooden grip has a pearly kind of shine to it. As long as it shoots those mini-stakes in a real fight as cleanly as it did in target practice. 

Wes lifts the gun's muzzle and says, "Can you blame me? This is twice the size of the weapon I've been using."

Faith purses her lips, because this is too easy. "I wouldn't say twice as big." She has to fend off his attempt to kiss her after that comment--they really are in prime vamp territory here and it would be stupid to get distracted. Her old hunting ground, along the Mystic and Charles rivers--and everyone'll know she's back in town after the JumboTron make-out at the baseball game.

It's kinda cute, how surprised Wesley is when she tells him about it. He hadn't noticed. He's also shocked at the revelation that some Red Sox fans are fanatical enough to get turned just so they'll live long enough to see their team win another championship. 

"And you wonder why the team is cursed," says Wesley. 

She points her stake at him and narrows her eyes. "Watch what you say. I've known that team a helluva lot longer than I've known you." Shaking the stake, Faith adds, "Plus, I'm still pissed at you."

"Because I didn't start a fist fight with the Aryan Nation back there? Challenge him to a duel? Pistols at twenty paces?"

"If you want to play the game, Wes, you need to know the rules."

Wesley's lip twitches. "I thought the rules were like, don't put out on the first date." 

Hah. Such a comedian, this guy. "South Boston rules," Faith tells him. "A guy says shit to your girl, you don't let him walk away." She glances at his arms. "Alright, he woulda kicked your ass one on one. I'd've stepped in eventually. It's the thought that counts."

"You're my girl?" He doesn't look away as he asks the question.

It makes her fingertips prickle. "Are you asking me?"

"Most of the time, you'd be insulted if I acted like I could protect you." Point for Wesley, she acknowledges to herself. "Besides, I didn't want to get in the middle. It seemed like you two had a history."

Yeah. That's one word for it. She's gonna gloss over that part. "Sure thing. We have a history where he beats me up, steals from me, and calls me a whore."

"He beat you up?" 

Where was this angry attitude earlier, when she wanted it? "Don't go all white knight on me now. He's a karate teacher. I paid him for the fighting." Paid too much of herself, but that's some of the stuff to gloss over. "Which, come to think of it, makes the stealing that much more annoying." 

Wesley looks at her like he wants to do an autopsy or something. Time to move on from the topic. Faith shakes her head and reminds him, "I didn't have a watcher until way late, and the local vamps knew about me before the Council did. It's probably thanks to Steve I survived until the watchers found me."

"And that's all?" Wesley asks.

Faith puffs out a noisy breath. "No, Wes, we also fucked, alright? A lot. Anything else you're dying to ask?"

The 'ready to do an autopsy' look fades after a moment. "No," he tells her. "No question. I'll just accept that I win the bad boyfriend award for the evening."

Okay, then. Although that word... "I'm not giving out any kind of boyfriend awards at the mo. So don't flatter yourself. But next time--"

"Next time a man insults you, I'll be sure to shoot him."

Faith senses the vampire right before he speaks. "Golly gee, Wes, is that a promise?" Of all the monsters to pass by... Tonight's theme has to be 'unfinished business', which is just. Fuckin'. Great. 

Fate, or whatever, is effficient like that: bringing all of the old ghosts--or vamps--back in her life in one short visit. Faith drawls, "Scooter, man, you're uglier than ever." 

She raises her stake and points at his nose--missing a chunk from the bottom--and says, "I remember when I did that to you, too. If you hadn't run off screaming like a little girl--"

He tries a sneer, which looks hilarious with half a nose gone. "You shouldna ever have come back here." He vamps out and announces, "And my name's not Scooter, you stupid bitch."

As if she'd forgotten. "Sorry, _Azathoth_." Him and his little posse of goth princelings had given themselves 'cool' nicknames back in high school. Pre-vamp days, even. "You're the same damn moron who drooled all over himself in homeroom." 

"Oh, you're one to talk, Harriet!"

She jumps forward, holding her stake, but Wes touches her arm and says,"Please, allow me." 

OK, so **now** Wesley's ready to do battle with her past--he's got the new stake-dart gun at the ready, all trigger-happy. 

And then they get interrupted again.

* * *

Stephen Fuckin' Cuddy actually makes plans these days. It's almost impressive. Faith has to leave him for Wes to deal with; she's busy with the two hench-vamps Steve brought with him, plus Scooter/Azathoth. 

What actually is impressive is that Wesley has managed to flip Cuddy to the ground by the time she takes care of the vamps--

\--and for a moment she's tempted to let Wesley kill Steve. But the man is still human, in spite of teaming up with a couple of vamps. Apparently the humanity thing is in question. "This one's for Faith!" Wesley announces, stake in hand. Such a dork. 

Faith grabs his wrist. "Don't." 

"What?" He tries to loosen her grip. "You're not suddenly getting sentimental about this moron?"

Steve pushes to one elbow and she clocks him in the jaw. It's not quite satisfying enough, but since he's out cold, she doesn't really have an excuse to punch him again. "Yeah. Real sentimental." 

Faith claps her hands together, getting rid of the vamp dust. "Scooter's gone. Real cinch." She tugs on the stake in Wesley's hand and says, "But you don't wanna do that to a human. It makes a mess. Believe me, I been there."

"To a--you're sure he's human?" Wesley kneels and checks Steve's neck for a pulse. 

"Yup. I was close enough to feel his body heat at the game," she tells him. "And they haven't had time to turn him since then. A grade-A toxic asshole, yeah. But human."

"So--what do we do with him?"

* * *

They dump Steve on his mama's lawn on their way out of town. Not that it matters to her. Faith swallows back a few angry tears and drives the Plymouth fast enough to make Wesley _almost_ say something.

She's just glad to leave this shitty place behind them again. They head west--'cause they sure as hell can't go east from here. Her hair has turned into a wild tangle around her head when she finally starts to feel tired. The moon's gone down and the sun has been up for a few hours. They've traveled from Mass. to Connecticut into eastern PA, according to Wesley.

It's green here, all tall trees and sky and the towns are tiny. Scranton is big enough, she supposes. Instead of letting Wes take the wheel, Faith looks for a place to bunk down, nixing Wesley's ideas until they find a hotel that's the right amount of seedy, on the edge of town. Right next to the train tracks and near where two highways come together: good hunting territory for vamps and for slayers looking for them.

* * *

"We have hours before sundown," Faith tells Wesley. Maybe she's over the idea that he's going to fight for her honor. It was stupid, anyway. And maybe she's feeling forgiving for--for whatever might need forgiving.

"So I noticed," says Wesley, glancing at her as he unpacks more weapons to store under the bed. 

"I'm thinking fucking and food. In that order." She rolls one shoulder and then the other, loosening the stiff muscles in her back.

"Do I get a vote?" He tries to sound prissy but is a bit too interested to manage the right tone. 

"Sure. You can pick where." Faith winks at him, which makes him snort out a laugh in surprise.

* * *

Wes fucks her from behind, bending her over the sink in the hotel bathroom. Her hair forms a curtain, both hiding and revealing Wesley's intense stare at their reflection in the mirror. He finishes before her and then twines his fingers with hers, stroking a rhythm on her clit until she comes with a loud sob. 

Breathing hard, she stares at their reflection as well, only looking away when Wesley notices.

* * *

She lets him get cleaned up first, and then kicks him out to find some chow. Faith takes her time in the shower. The drain keeps clogging--made worse by the strands of long, dark hair--and the pooling water makes her toes pruney. 

Stepping back into the bedroom, she wrinkles her nose at the texture of cheap carpeting under her soggy toes. Shitty hotels: they feel like home to her now. As much a home as anything else she'd claim now. Faith plops on the floor near the AC unit, combing through her hair. 

Wes almost trips over her as he backs into the hotel room, carrying two bags of groceries. "What are you doing?" he asks. "Is this some new variety of meditation?"

Her wet hair sheds more droplets as she jerks her head up enough to see his face. "Drying," she tells him. She tries punching a different button on the AC. The bed squeaks as he sits on the corner of it, doing something with the food. 

"Why don't you get a blow dryer?"

Punching another button on the AC unit, Faith finally gets some air to sputter out. "I'd just lose it," she admits. "Like the last two." 

Even with the AC running now, Faith recognizes the popping sound of canned food being opened. The smell of tinned spaghetti drifts over to her as she tugs another strand of hair close to the wimpy stream of warm-ish air. 

There's a reason she keeps him around: he knows her favorite foods. And he's good with his hands and he likes her hair. And he knows more of her secrets than either one of them will admit.

When she sees Wesley looking her way again, Faith pulls a strand straight out. It's almost as long as her arm. She mimes cutting it short, close to her head. "Could probably use one of the blades," she says, because he'll be outraged at the idea of using a weapon for a haircut. "What do you think?" 

"You're asking what I think?" His eyes widen and he glances sideways, looking for an escape route. 

Faith grins. "Stranger things have happened. I saw that look in your eye, so spit it out. What do you think?"

Tugging another strand of hair closer to the AC unit, she waits to hear Wes worm his way out of giving her an answer. Something about it makes her feel a tingly warmth--that she knows him like this. That they have some kind of routine as they go along, a Faith-and-Wes sort of rhythm while fate or whatever carries them around for a while.

Or maybe it's just the pathetic AC finally warming up. But still...

Faith tugs on another strand of hair and waits for Wes to bring her the bowl of nuked spaghetti.


End file.
